Rescued By A Kiss (The New Orleans Go Cup Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

“After you move into your own place you can rescue all the dogs you want,” Julia said.

“Are you moving out?” Dad’s head snapped up as he blurted out the question aimed at my bathroom door.

“Baby birds are supposed to leave the nest, right?” I said stepping back into my room making flapping movements with my arms in an attempt to amuse him.

“Well, I just thought you’d move out after you and Dante got married,” he said looking back at the dog and not making eye contact with me. Julia gave me an eye roll and head nod toward the door.

“Well, I’d like to know I could make it on my own first. I’ve been thinking of getting an apartment, one that’s dog friendly.” I couldn’t look at Dad. I didn’t want to see the sad look in his eyes that matched the sound in his voice. We both knew it was high time for me to be making a life on my own. I needed to get out of my parents’ home, but according to my mother, nice girls didn’t move out until they were married. I hurried and said, “OK, Julia, let’s go. Danielle and Suzanne are meeting us there, and they’re saving us a good spot on Lee Circle.” I didn’t want Dad asking any more marriage questions.

“Try not to get into trouble or bring home any more dogs,” my mother said as I kissed her goodbye.

Nodding his head toward my rear apartment, Dad said, “Your Mother and I will meet you in our usual spot. You girls go on now and don’t worry about . . .”

“The stinky dog,” my mother said finishing his sentence. “I guess you better feed it along with the other three after you bathe it. What did you name it?”

Outside, I picked up our pace to adjust to the chill in the damp night air. Woozie was right. It was a good night to catch a cold and to stay home. My parents’ house was one block off St. Charles Avenue, the major Mardi Gras parade route. We crossed the street and walked past St. Teresa’s Church. All of us, my sister, Dante, all Dante’s brothers, all the families on the block, had made our First Communion, Confirmation, and saw each other there every Sunday at Mass.

I heard the thunderous approach of the motorcycle escorts. They revved their engines and it sounded like they were only a couple of blocks away.

“You know Dante will be there on St. Charles Avenue at Lee Circle. He arranges his parade assignment so we can watch the parade together,” I said.

Julia did an eye roll that made her look like she was going into a coma. “He gets himself assigned where you tell him you’re going to meet your friends so he can keep an eye on you. He’s on duty, so he’s watching for criminals or listening to that chatter from the radio in his ear. You’re in the same place at the same time. Big difference. You get to speak to him in between radio talk? Sounds like fun. Between him, your dad, and your mother, you are never going to get laid.”

“Dante is just right for me.”

“Don’t you mean just right next door? Didn’t look too far for Mr. Right, did you? You should be looking for Mr. Show Me The World not settling for Mr. Right Next Door.”

Ouch. Just for that I will wait until the end of the night to tell her she missed a loop with her belt at the back of her pants. In retrospect she will think her night was ruined.

She looked around the crowd and added, “I don’t see my friends from work.”

“Work? Which work?” I asked. After Julia had been laid off from the phone company she found work at The Club Bare Minimum in the French Quarter as an exotic dancer. This was information my mother never needed to know.

“I have other friends, you know, not just dancers from my current occupation. You should try the night club dancing scene. You might like it. We make great money in tips. Ask Suzanne.”

“I should take my clothes off and dance naked in front of men for money?” I asked, with as much seriousness as I could muster.

“It’s sounds bad when you say it like that. It’s a better workout than going to the gym, and I make a few hundred a night. Besides, it would be fun to see your mother go over the edge.”

We pushed through the crowd that swelled in the street, overflowed onto the sidewalks and up the steps of Lee Circle. We found Suzanne holding a place for us.

“I’m glad you made it” Suzanne said, smiling. “I was worried you were gonna miss the parade. It’s a big crowd tonight. Everybody and his dog is here. Dante told us you brought home another one.”

The busybody hotline was working overtime. My business was on the street before me. Julia was right. I needed to get my own place.

The Flambeaux carriers danced up the street while they twirled poles of fire. The tradition started when floats were drawn by mules or horses instead of trucks with generators. The carriers wrapped their heads and hands in rags to protect themselves from spewing kerosene as they danced and spun the poles. The crowd tossed them money for the entertainment. The real skill required the carrier to bend over in the street, pick up the quarters and not drop or spill kerosene into the crowd or onto the carrier in front of them. Even with all its possibility for calamity, I hoped this was a tradition that would never disappear or be replaced.

Julia said, “Their dancing, if you can call it dancing, is obscene.”

This from a pole dancer? I spotted Dante and waved to get his attention. We made eye contact and I blew him a kiss. He smiled a weary smile until he noticed Julia and the smile faded into his work face. The police worked sixteen-hour days for two to three weeks until Carnival Season ended.

Police vehicles blasted sirens urging people to get behind the curb. Immediately after they passed, like water seeking its own level, the crowd flowed back into the street. Revelers danced, drank, and boys carried girls on their shoulders to get a better view of the parade. Next came the mounted patrol. They rode shoulder to shoulder and spread across the street curb to curb. They followed the squad cars and blew whistles at the same people who just moved out of the cars’ path and right into theirs. The horses pushed the same people behind the curb, again.

The Shriners’ motorcycle escort thundered by next. Engines roared and revved, lunging forward to keep the open spaces in the parade short. On the sidewalks, vendors pushed along carts of roasted peanuts and cotton candy behind the crowd. The food smells intertwined and wafted in the air. Even with the combined smell of horses, motorcycles, and exhaust, the cotton candy and peanut aromas made sales over the noise of the sirens and whistles. I heard the St. Augustine Marching One Hundred High School Band before I saw them. The horn section wailed out their fight song to the crowd who cheered them on.

Julia’s favorite part of the parade approached—the gentlemen’s walking clubs. These organizations consisted of men—young men, old men, and all ages in between. Even though the parade rolled at 6:30 
P.M.
, all the Mardi Gras Krewes or clubs started their day at 8 
A.M.
with a breakfast of Bloody Marys or champagne cocktails. The official start of the parade kicked off the real drinking.

That was when I saw him, when I kissed a man I didn’t know as if he were leaving to fight a war.

A
s the medics
swarmed in, I felt hands the size of frying pans squeeze me by the shoulders and move me away from The Kisser. We held on to each other until the burley police officer lifted me off the ground, pulling us apart, and placed me about six feet away, saying, “Don’t go anywhere. We need to ask you some questions.”

Faces loomed before me, in and out of focus, screaming for me to move out of the way, only I didn’t hear anything. Ambulance lights flashed and police shouted orders into megaphones. The crash truck drove in close to pick up The Kisser. It looked like a silent movie in slow motion. He was gone in seconds and I didn’t even know his name.

The police rhythm changed, indicating they were now on high alert, moving fast. They taped off the area where the shooting happened and pushed people back out of the way. The parade’s ending, for the police, changed from the drudgery of getting off work and going home to the frenzy associated with a full-blown crime scene. More police cars were arriving than were leaving.

Even while I was stunned and trying to comprehend what happened, Julia was babbling and repeating “Oh my Gawd! Let’s get outta here!” But, I was trying to decide what to do next.

That was when Dante found me. He grabbed Julia and me by our elbows and pulled us away from the scene. Anyone in our way moved aside as he cut a determined path through the crowd, dragging us along. His jaw was set and the veins in his neck bulged up bigger and bigger with every step. After all, he’d told me to go straight home after the parade.

He didn’t say a word. Julia didn’t say a word. She looked pale and small next to him. I tried to resist being dragged, but without success. Dante had a death grip on each of us.

“Wait,” I screamed but he didn’t hear me or pretended not to over the noise.

He pushed me into the front seat of a police car, then Julia into the backseat. He marched around the back of the squad car, got in the driver’s seat and started it up. He threw the vehicle in gear, turned on the police light and barked, “Buckle up.”

“Where are you taking me?” I said. “I need to get back there.”

“I’m taking you home, and then I’m going back to work,” he said hitting the door lock.

“Home? That guy just got shot.”

“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it? Did you see who shot him?” he asked.

“Well, no, I don’t think so, but that policeman told me to wait, and said he wanted to ask me some questions.”

“I am the police. Remember?” he spit out. “I’ll take care of that.”

“Well, maybe I do know something, maybe I saw something. Maybe Julia saw something. Maybe we should do our civic duty and stick around to answer the questions.”

“Maybe you should go home like I told you to in the first place, and not stick around to let whoever shot that guy see you two.” His voice felt like a slap to my face.

I looked at Julia for backup, but she hunched down in the back seat, as if trying to look invisible. Then it spilled out, with more than an edge to my voice, “Quit telling me what to do. I’ve had a lifetime of it already. Who do you think you are, pushing me around?”

“Miss Yakety Yak in the back seems to understand the danger. Look at her, or rather, listen.” He tilted his head toward the back seat, as if trying to hear Julia. “Cat got your tongue, Julia?”

“My car is back there. How am I going to get it home?” I tried to convince him to let me out of the car.

“I’ll drive it home when I take the squad car back. Julia, stay with her tonight,” he said over his shoulder. It was more of a command than a request. Julia just nodded. Dante pulled down the driveway right behind the green station wagon that belonged to Mom, out of sight from the street. He slammed to a stop at the side door to my apartment. He sat looking straight ahead and hit the all-door unlock to dismiss us. We got out and without a word, he threw the squad car in reverse and drove backwards out the driveway at about fifty mph. No goodnight peck on the cheek, no
I’ll see you tomorrow
, no nothing. Just rubber burning and gravel flying.

“Thanks for the ride.” I hollered, waving to the squad car spinning backwards into a turn, then tearing off up the street. If Dante had been nicer, I might have told him that the guy who was shot mentioned someone named Isabella.

“Well, that was fun,” Julia muttered.

“You can speak. Guess the cat didn’t get your tongue.” I stood there a second wondering why Dante was alone and where his partner was. They weren’t off duty yet. I rummaged in my purse, found the car keys and got in the driver’s side of my mother’s station wagon. “Get in. We’re going to look for someone named Isabella.”

“W
hat are you
doing?” Julia asked.

As long as I could remember, my mother drove this big avocado-green station wagon, the ugliest car on the planet. It just wouldn’t die, except now, it just wouldn’t start. I often thought I might have to bury one of my parents in it because it was going to be with us forever.

“What are you doing?” Julia asked again, a little louder.